


In her image

by Leonora51



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Angst, BAMF Lyra Belaqua, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mrs Coulter POV, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:27:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26900614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leonora51/pseuds/Leonora51
Summary: Lord Asriel crosses worlds. Lyra doesn’t. She remains standing in the snow, the corpse of Roger Parslow held in her arms. And then Mrs Coulter finds her.What if Lyra was a little more shocked for her best friend’s death? What if she was angrier for Lord Asriel’s betrayal? Growing up the lines between good and evil begin to fade, especially when you are living with Mrs Coulter.
Relationships: Lyra Belacqua & Marisa Coulter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	In her image

[Past, Age 12]  
Lyra, age 12, had come to live in Marisa Coulter’s home as her assistant. 

Right now, she was in the bathtub while Mrs Coulter gently massaged her scalp with the shampoo. 

«You need to cut your hair. This style doesn’t suit you» she observed lightly, thinking back to her decision to look for Lyra.  
It wasn’t maternal affection, but curiosity that had driven her. At Bolvangar, at least a third of the children called out for their mothers before intercision. And it made her wonder: would her child do the same, calling out for a mother she never knew? Would she see something of herself in her bastard? 

At Jordan College she found a little tomboy, whose eyes sparked every time she looked at her, same as the other children she took to the Station.

It was clear that Lyra was enamoured with the idea of the North. She could see Asriel’s brashness and his sense of adventure in his daughter, but not his intelligence and his calculation. And in their brief encounter, she saw nothing of herself reflected in the childish lines of her face.

Her decision to take Lyra away from Jordan, was a spur of the moment. Just another way to have the upper hand on Asriel.  
And then, in that bathtub, something sparked in Mrs Coulter. 

From a little white lie about a girl with hair so long that she could make a rope, she found the first likeness between them. The white lie of a child who thought herself too clever was what sparked her first flame of maternal love. That’s her manipulation, her ability to lie – she thought – while her brain repeated - hers, hers- 

And that flame, so little that she hardly noticed, would in time only grow. 

«You will be extraordinary» she heard herself say.

And extraordinary, she was. 

[Present time]  
Mrs Coulter hates Rockwood Hills and its horrible mid-night party. Still, she smiles and waves at another guest who is coming her way. They are all so cordial these days. She finds that she can barely tolerate them. 

When the Lady of the Manor approaches her in a cloud of purple feathers and touches Mrs Coulter’s arm to draw her attention, she barely holds back a sound of displeasure. 

«Oh Marisa, you sly old fox» she says as a way of welcome «What a catch! Everyone is speaking about it! You will find a lot of proud mothers glaring at you tonight, of this I am sure!» she trills. 

Mrs Coulter hums in agreement, looking outside the window on the dark garden below as a sign of clear dismissal. Her golden monkey growls when Lady Rockwood starts speaking again. 

«Who would have thought that your Lyra would become such a heartbreaker? Especially after all those nasty rumours when she was a child».  
Mrs Coulter turns her head to look at the woman. She affects a careless smile, but her eyes are blazing with anger.

«I am overjoyed with the engagement of Lyra and Lord Morrigan. My future son in law has chosen himself the most devout and pious of women». It’s a blatant lie. They both know it, but the respect for Lyra’s new position goes a long way to silence Lady Rockwood. 

Lord Rikkard Rockwood, who has come in search of his wife and is already drunk, doesn’t have the same control. «Mrs Coulter, congratulations! Lyra has your beauty and Lord Asriel’s wildness. Didn’t think she would consort with the top man in the Magisterium, but she wouldn’t be the first in the family whoring herself for power. So, is the lass pregnant? ». 

Lady Rockwood looks at her husband with a horrified expression. Mrs Coulter will make sure he has a fatal incident in a couple of weeks. Ten days top if he continues to smile that irritating smile. 

« I will make sure to pass on your well wishes to my daughter and my soon the be son in law» she replies softly «the exact wording, of course»

[Past, age 13]  
Lyra was thirteen when she was dragged back from her expedition North. 

If she closes her eyes, Mrs Coulter can see her daughter’s small body wrapped around the dead one of her friend Roger and she can hear her terrible cries. When she wrapped her arms around Lyra, she was completely unresponsive. It was like a switch: one moment she was crying like a dying animal and the next there was silence. 

Mrs Coulter dragged her back towards the zeppelin hastily prepared for departure. 

For months Lyra was completely catatonic. After that, she didn’t speak other than to start screaming every time someone called her Miss Belaqua. The servants began to address her as the “little miss”. 

At the mark of her fourth month back to the London’s townhouse she told Mrs Coulter that she didn’t want to be called Belaqua ever again. And when Mrs Coulter said that everyone needed a surname, she responded that she could be Lyra Coulter for all that she cared, after all «I may hate you, but it’s nothing compared to how much I hate him».

And that was the end. The father whom repaid her trust by killing her best friend Roger and abandoning them all to go explore a new world wouldn’t be named again for another 2 years. 

[Present time]  
The echoes of a crystalline laugh come from the other side of the ballroom. Lyra Coulter laughs just like her mother – most people say – the same sound of fresh bells and sweet music. Some, the more intelligent ones, notes that she smiles like her too: a slight upturn of the lips that is more scheming than genuine. 

Mrs Coulter takes a moment to truly see the creature in the ivory dress who is equally charming and calculating. The white of her dress makes her pale skin shine. Her dark hair is gathered in an elegant hairstyle and shows her slender neck with the cross of the magisterium proudly displayed. 

They said she is a true beauty, this Lyra Coulter who was reborn from Lyra Belaqua’s ashes. Mrs Coulter looks at her daughter and sees a masterpiece. 

[Past, age 14]  
She was the one who gave Lyra the cross of the Magisterium. It was a present for her fourteenth birthday. A woman - she had explained – has to be seen as pious, devout, obedient. Lyra especially so. Right now, they were in a precarious situation, she had had to collect a lot of favours after Bolvangar to not be separated from her daughter again. 

«You wouldn’t want to become a ward of the Magisterium, would you Lyra? Bad things happen to children who don’t have protectors. Children like your friend Roger». Lyra’s eyes had flashed with anger and it was almost a relief to see some emotion on the mask that had become her daughter’s face. 

«So it’s very important that you show yourself obedient and religious, darling girl. Always wear this cross around your neck. Be quiet but listen. You don’t know what you can learn. And above all, pray to the Authority for strength against sin».  
And pray she did. 

Lyra could only go outside for mass, accompanied by herself or a servant. Every morning after breakfast her knees touched the cold marble of the church. Every night, she kneeled in prayer. 

Even when the whispers of “erethic” that followed her everywhere began to die, Lyra’s apparent devotion stayed strong. 

When Mrs Coulter finally asked what she was praying for, Lyra looked at her with eyes too cold for a fourteen years old. «For you all to burn in hell» she had responded, calm. 

After months exercising patience, Mrs Coulter felt her anger resurface. The child dared to pray for her death? After she had called in every favour and made every sacrifice necessary so that her daughter wouldn’t be taken away again?

This silly child had no idea what Marisa had to do to atone for her failures after Bolvangar – she thought with an involuntary shudder.  
Lyra – who was attuned to her mother’s weakness – looked at her with eyes gleaming with satisfaction. 

This would not do. 

Without warning, her golden monkey took Pan in an iron vice and carried him across the room. Lyra whimpered softly on the floor, the look in her eyes – Lord Asriel’s eyes – scalding. 

She kneeled beside her daughter. «What are you praying for?» she asked softly. The sweet tone of her voice a sharp contrast with the white fingers tight around Lyra’s chin.

«To be an orphan. This time for real» her daughter spit bravely.

The hand that held Lyra’s chin went at the back of her head and tugged her hair. She waited until Lyra looked her in the eyes and then she slapped the little ingrate. Her ring made a cut on Lyra’s cheek. 

Mrs Coulter didn’t release her hold on her hair and their eyes remained locked in a battle of glares.

«While I encourage you to be proactive in pursuing your goals darling, brashness and rudeness will take you nowhere. A true lady is pure, gentle and meek. And if she isn’t, she must give the appearance of it. So, what are you praying for?»

Lyra licked her lips «For the Authority to save our souls». The second slap was unexpected and Lyra’s tears flowed from her eyes. 

«Why?! I did what you wanted. I was meek. Why are you hitting me?» she cried out frustrated and terrified 

«I remembered you as a better liar, darling. Try to be realistic, would you?». Then, in a sweet tone she asked again why she was praying.

«I pray for the Authority to protect the weak –

Mrs Coulter raised her arm 

\- and punish the sinners. Mother» 

and stroke gently Lyra’s cheek. «Much better. Daughter»

[Present time]  
For all of Lyra’s ability to lie, she never really learned to appear docile. Even now, she easily stands out from the group of gullible young women who make up her acquaintances. 

They were raised believing that a woman’s place is that of a quiet support for her powerful husband; Mrs Coulter raised Lyra to believe she could get the power herself. Their soft voices and kind eyes speak of a life of privilege that protected their innocence. Silver tongue Lyra never had much innocence to begin with and Mrs Coulter and Lord Asriel destroyed whatever remained. 

They absolved the most important duty of every parent: they educated their daughter to the reality of the world.

[Past, age 15]  
Lyra was fifteen. Her childish features had left the place to a proud beauty. Still, in Saint Mary’s Academy for young girls it wasn’t her beauty that had her being noticed. 

It was her knowledge – or rather her lack of knowledge – about the most basic things that transformed her daughter – in the eyes of the well-bred girls of the elite - in a savage, poorly masquerading as a young lady.

Lyra could negotiate with witches, drive gyptain’s ships, destroy an entire station for experimental theology and free all its children.  
She couldn’t however do basic arithmetic, knew nothing of history and flinched every time the word theology was mentioned. 

Her only skill worth mentioning was her reading of the alethiometer, but she had refused to even look at it after the Incident up North. And while losing a potential advantage granted on her nerves, Mrs Coulter agreed that it was an ability that had better stay hidden from the prying eyes of the Magisterium.

«How is school these days? » she asked casually as her daughter returned home with a few new bruises. 

«Good» Lyra replied with gritted teeth.

«Should I expect another call from sister Marlene for your unruly behaviour, daughter? Got in another fight? » Miss Coulter continued with a light tone.

«Bastards are known to have hot temperaments, mother» she replied shrugging

Mrs Coulter paled. «You will never refer to yourself in such a derogatory way, am I clear? »

«Why? Have I offended your delicate sensibilities? You know that’s what they all call me. They don’t even bother to speak behind my back». 

«Tomorrow I will speak with the Rectoress of Saint Mary. She will see that-»

«Don’t bother. She is … aware» Lyra replied stoically. Aware and encouraging it, the unsaid echoed in the room. 

«This is unacceptable! » Mrs Coulter began to rage.

«And what will you do? Intimidate them? Ask for help from one of your non-existent friends? Gone to some fancy party lately? » she asked mockingly. «The truth is that cutting children from their daemons does no longer pay like it used to».

Mrs Coulter grabbed a vase and threw it across the room. Lyra didn’t bat an eye. It wasn’t the first piece of furniture to fall victim of her mother’s temper. 

Then it was her turn. Mrs Coulter grabbed her arm and forcibly dragged her out of the room. What would happen now, would be every grade of unpleasant.

Lyra felt a familiar feeling of fear. Until now, she had never dared to mention Mrs Coulter’s work, at Bolvangar or any other “station” since then. And she implied – sure – but never openly spoke about her mother’s falling star. 

She risked a look at Mrs Coulter. Flushed face, clenched jaw, glittering eyes. Gods, she was pretty even when she was on the verge of murder!

They went into Mrs Coulter’s bedroom. And still nothing happened.

They just stood in silence in front of the mirror. Lyra in the front, Mrs Coulter behind her. No one spoke for several minutes.

«You are no less beautiful than yesterday mother» Lyra said sarcastically. Mrs Coulter tightened the hold on her arm in warning. 

« Look at yourself» her mother said «what do you see?»

«A scrawny fifteen years hold» Lyra shrugged. 

«I see a young girl brave enough to go North to save her friend» Lyra made to interrupt, but Mrs Coulter continued « a girl who is capable of arousing the loyalty of the gyptains and tricking a station full of the best minds for experimental theology that the Magisterium produced. Someone capable of spotting the weakness of another person and charm, manipulate and exploit that. When you woke up in Bolvangar, you knew exactly what to do and say to manipulate me. Why should a group of silly girls and nuns be any different?»

«I …. I knew what I wanted then. Now I feel … adrift» Lyra replied, with a surprising show of vulnerability.

«Close your eyes». Lyra obeyed.

«I think you know what you want»

«But I-» 

«I said eyes closed, Lyra» Mrs Coulter reprimanded 

«I don’t want to take orders from you, for once!» Lyra replied hotly

«I imagine not» Mrs Coulter laughed «Don’t you want the make those girls pay? Rise above them»

«They are just stupid girls. I don’t-» 

Mrs Coulter shook her by the shoulders. «How many times do I have to remind you? Do.not.lie.to.me»

«Yes. Happy?»

«Don’t you want to hurt me?»

«What?!» Lyra now looked at her bewildered.

«I kidnap children and take their very soul away from them. How many children have suffered because of me, do you think?»

Lyra looked at her, saying nothing.

«What about Lord Asriel?»

«What about him?» Lyra replied with gritted teeth.

«I thought you wanted to make him pay for your little friend’s death. But he is out there no worse for wear since your promise. And you are here, being beaten up by silly girls and wallowing in your self misery».

Lyra freed herself from Mrs Coulter hold. «Why are you telling me this? What do you want?» she asked desperately.

«I want for you to find your fire back. The world is a canvass that is waiting to be painted and darling you can colour it in any way you want».

«Like you and Lord Asriel did? Shall I colour my paintings with the blood of children too? I will die before becoming like you» Lyra spat with conviction.

«You don’t have to make yourself in my image» Mrs Coulter said. They both knew it was a lie.

[Present time]  
Even in Rockwood Manor there are more than a few paintings made by Lyra hanging on the walls. Turns out that her child is never going to be a scientist or an explorer like her parents, but she is incredibly talented when it comes to art. 

Even the slow witted Rockwoods have recognised the true beauty of her daughter’s work. Really, there is no family of some importance who didn’t ask for a portrait. 

Lyra’s works are things of beauty, vibrant with colours and joy. Looking at them, one gets the impression that the artist was never touched by the ugly things of the world. 

Lyra – they whisper from the walls – is just like us. A bright, graceful and fragile girl who needs protecting. Many young men have fallen for this lie.

It’s a wonder what a pretty face can hide from lustful and eager men. Still, Lyra’s daemon should have been a dead giveaway. 

[Past, age 16]  
Mrs Coulter looked at sixteen years old Lyra and didn’t recognize her anymore. She asked herself if it was something she had in common with other mothers, whose sons and daughters had grown up. Somehow, she doubted it. 

By all reports Lyra was sweet, poised and obedient. She wore fashionable clothes same as her fellow students. She was attentive in class and even if she wasn’t top of the year, she had finally learned the value of knowledge. She had friends of her social standing. 

Miss Coulter ignored the rumour that Lyra had something to do with fellow student Sally-Anne Edwards’s very public breakdown.  
She spoke to her more: about books and boys, dresses and parties. And art, colours and galleries. 

Mrs Coulter taught her how to flirt without appearing like a wanton woman. Lyra was a fast learner. And boys began to flock to her like moths to the flame.

She liked to exercise during mass. She would look intently at the priest and suddenly meet the eyes of some poor boy, blushing prettily.  
Mrs Coulter would scold her without any real heat. Her daughter would be a heartbreaker. 

[Present time]  
Lyra knows how to work a room. Who to threaten, who to charm, which secret to hide and which to reveal. Her eyes sparkle and she directs a beaming smile at her husband. She looks every bit the proud young wife to be, but the glint in her eyes isn’t that of a woman in love. It’s the kind of look that Mrs Coulter often wears herself, the pleasure of a goal achieved.

She is still such a child. 

A look into Lord Morrigan’s too cold eyes is enough for Marisa to know that this marriage is not the way to true power or contentment for her daughter. The man is too intelligent and calculating to be manipulated, too cold to be swayed by sweet words or tears, too disinterested in carnal pleasures to be influenced by the beauty of his young wife. 

She had wanted someone different for Lyra. A scholar or a politician enchanted by his beautiful young wife and too stupid to see her manipulations. Someone through which Lyra can exercise her power. Someone like the late Mr. Coulter.

And there is a little part of her who wouldn’t be opposed to an explorer. Someone Lyra could fall in love with. A brash, brave, intelligent young lord come to lift Lyra’s off her feet. Someone – she almost doesn’t dare to think about – like Lord Asriel. 

Lord Morrigan – whose hands are bloodier than hers – is not what she would have wanted at all. This doesn’t prevent her from taking full advantage from this unexpected relationship.

[Past, age 16]  
Simon Brighter was Lyra’s first boyfriend. He was a shy boy, just a year her senior, with a head of blond curls and soft eyes. He came from a rich family, but he wasn’t connected with the Magisterium.

«Bless him» Lyra had replied to her mother’s observation.

«You know that true power resides in the Magisterium, Lyra. This young man-»

«Has no blood on his hands. I understand how you can find this difficult to digest»

«He is soft. He will be easily manipulated. By you. And by others. You must calculate costs and benefits».

«But I already did» Lyra replied confidently

«And?»

«And I always wanted blond children», then seeing her mother’s face flushed with anger «It was a joke. Relax or you will have a conniption. Simon is a … practical exercise in seduction» she replied. But her soft smile betrayed her words

«Don’t go too far» was Mrs Coulter only warning. 

[Present times]  
There is fear in the eyes of those who look Lord Morrigan’s way. As the man that repristinated the Authority’s rule and repressed with an iron first every thought of rebellion, it’s not surprising. What is unexpected are the looks directed to his wife to be. 

The younger ones look at Lyra and her daemon with the adoration destined for saints. News of her extraordinary reading of the alethiometer and her relationship with the post powerful man in the Magisterium have begun circulating. 

Once upon a time, it was her savage ways that set her apart from her fellow students. Now it’s the blessing of the Authority himself. Or so it would seem. 

There is however a young man almost hidden in a corner who looks upon her daughter and sees the woman. Simon Brighter is no longer fifteen, but he looks the same with is soft smile and sad eyes. 

She asks herself what would have been like if she hadn’t intervened to end their relationship. If Lyra fondness would have turned to love for this welp who still looks at her daughter with the same longing of several years ago. 

She knows that he would have loved her, cherished her and be everything a husband should be. Lyra could have been happy in a life like that. Or she could have grown restless and cold. Power – she had learned years ago with a servant’s body in her arms – was the only true protection against the world. 

Mrs Coulter sights. Sometimes she looks at her daughter and sees a young woman built in her image. Others she sees a child still, too confident for her own good. And then there are the worse days, when she sees the broken doll that Asriel’s foolish actions (and hers too, she adds in her moments of honesty) have created. 

[Past, age 17]  
Lyra’s daemon stabilized at age 17. He didn’t end up in his preferred ermine form, soft and delicate looking. Pan became a wolf. Lyra regarded him with eyes full of mirth and didn’t say a word. 

The next week, Mrs Coulter released her discoveries about dust to the public.

Lyra read it on the journal before school. Mrs Coulter held her breath, while Lyra’s eyes scanned the article. 

Twelve years old Lyra would scream and steal a gyptian ship to leave. Fifteen years old her, would talk about justice and innocence and hold her love like a weapon against her mother and her research. Seventeen years old Lyra had kissed Marisa’s cheek and gave her congratulations. Sweet poison and mockery in every word.

But that night, the mask finally cracked. Mrs Coulter found Lyra kneeling on the bathroom floor; her body shuddering as big tears rolled down her eyes. She remained on the threshold, feeling like a thief in her own home. But staying immobile, half hidden by the wall nevertheless. 

She had taught Lyra to always appear strong. Think of everyone as your enemy, don’t show weakness unless it’s a calculated one. She had modeled her with cold, stinging comments and harsh critiques. Don’t ever be too comfortable – her eyes spoke after every unwanted lesson – you can trust another only in the measure you can manipulate him. 

Lying with words isn’t enough. You must lie with your eyes too. And your face. And your body. 

And Lyra had become so good with it. Not perfect, but very good indeed. She had modeled herself into a sophisticated young woman unlike the street urchin of her past. She obeyed the doctrine of the authority and few would guess the scorn and mockery she had with The Faith. She sowed good connections and punishments for those who scorned her. 

It was so rare to see her vulnerable these days. A part of herself found it disgusting, weak, a lesson not completely learned. But her heart, strangely enough ached. She wanted the throw her arms around her daughter and hold her close. 

But neither she or Lyra would be comfortable with this kind of display. She made the next best thing.

She marched into the bathroom and dragged the girl to her feet by the arm. Lyra yelped and looked at her with big, scared eyes still full of tears. 

«There is nothing more disgusting than a woman in tears» Mrs Coulter stated with a harsh tone.

«I know of several things more disgusting, mother» Lyra replied, not even trying to suppress her tears «What are you doing here? » 

«I obviously thought to forgo the party in favor of a conversation in the bathroom with my daughter» she replied sarcastically, drying Lyra’s tears with a silk handkerchief. 

Lyra made a small smile. «Heavens! Parties these days must be a real bore»

Mrs Coulter sighted. «Lyra … We must talk about my research». All progress she had made, was quickly undone. Lyra’s face shut down.

«The journal said that you had found a cure against independent thinking and that you would start experimenting on a larger pool of children»

Mrs Coulter lips twitched « It wasn’t formulated that way»

« The form of the letter does not change the substance». 

« What you saw in Bolvangar was a very primitive model. We have developed the process to be as safe and-»

«If it’s so safe why have you waited until my daemon stabilized before releasing your research? » “If intercision is so good, why did you stop them?” was the question asked by twelve-year-old Lyra who echoed in the room.

Mrs Coulter reacted the same as 5 years ago, with soft words and a tender hug. Now Lyra knew how rare it was to be touched by her mother in anything but anger. «Darling, you can’t save everyone. Life isn’t fair and the only thing you can do is to accept that and protect those you love». 

[Present time]  
«Are you enjoying the party?» 

She hasn’t seen her approach. One minute she is thinking about the past and the next a beaming Lyra is standing in front of her.  
«Immensely» she replies, sarcastic.

«Is the ass kissing not up to your standards? » Lyra’s eyes dance with mirth 

«Don’t be crass, Lyra» Mrs Coulter softly reprimands. «What are you doing here?» she asks with a little too force to be considered polite «Shouldn’t you show off your future husband?» 

Lyra shrugs. « Gossip is fickle and my conquest is already a matter of the past. Or it will be in a few hours». She plasters a joyous smile on her face as she whispers « It seems that a matter of interest of the Magisterium has arisen. It’s about uncle Asriel»

Mrs Coulter would normally comment on Lyra’s choice of words. After everything that happened, she still calls him uncle Asriel, like there was still a possibility of reconciliation between all of them. Of being together as a family. But they have too long a memory and too hot temperaments to forgive and forget. Every betrayal is burned into their skin. 

Mrs Coulter would normally say all these things, but she is holding her breath and her heart is beating impossibly fast and the only thing she can think is – 

«Is he dead?» she asks breathless

«Is that worry I hear in your voice mother?» Lyra’s laugh resonates through the ballroom «Don’t worry. He has evaded once again from the Magisterium’s holding. Such a formidable man» Lyra comments lightly. 

It’s then that she registers it. Lyra isn’t screaming bloody murder nor is she afraid. She is bright and passionate and happy. And she has been like that since the party started. She had thought it was because of Lord Morrigan’s proposal and all the attention she was getting. 

But if it wasn’t that- 

She grabs Lyra’s arm «How long have you known?»

« 5 hours» she replies proudly, a hint of challenge in her eyes. 

Mrs Coulter must close her eyes while the golden monkey whimpers softly. Lyra was celebrating this entire time. Not her engagement. Not a goal achieved. But -

Her cold eyes meet her daughter’s colder ones «What have you done?»

«He will live. After all, I promised him an eternity of hell».

«Silly child! Haven’t you done enough?»

[Past, age 19]  
The news of his captivity reached her in a letter. It had been 11 months of detention and no one had bothered to inform her. Until now. Heads would roll, she would make sure of it. 

When she looked at Lord Asriel, she didn’t immediately recognize him. The too thin figure in the blue vest was nothing like the man she pictured in her dreams every night and remembered when she looked into Lyra’s eyes every morning. 

Whatever happened had succeeded where an ice prison, several assassinations’ attempts, hunger and torture had failed. They had broken him. 

It was in the hunched shoulders and the haunted eyes of her former lover. She felt a pang of pain mixed with pity at the vision of the once proud man, the father of her child.

She walked towards him and their eyes met. Hate contorted his features and she staggered.

«You» Lord Asriel spat with fury coloring his voice. «Did you come to admire your work?». He made to get up, but he was tied to a metallic chair.

Once upon a time, they would fight. She would slap him, wound him with her nails, spit angry and malicious words. And he would grab her by the neck and drag her against the wall, silencing her venom with a punitive kiss. This time nothing would temper his anger.

His face was a promise. He would squeeze her neck until he choked her at the first occasion.

«Asriel». Her voice was soft as she acknowledged her once lover. «How are you enjoying your return home?»

The growl of human and daemon made her eyes shine with satisfaction. Good, not completely broken after all, there was still fire in him.  
«I hope you won’t mind my unexpected visit».

«I wondered when the interrogation would start. Bit late I guess» he rasped out

« There will be no interrogation Asriel. You are in a psychiatric hospital and the only thing you have to think about is healing» she replies softly

«You are the one that’s insane! You psychotic bitch» 

She was about to reply, but they were interrupted.

« Ah, the unique comfort of family! Years pass but things remain the same!» 

They both looked at the intruder. Lyra was on the threshold of the room. She had ordered her daughter to wait outside, but of course she couldn’t obey even if her life depended on it. She was about to reprimand her, but her next words remained unspoken.

Lord Asriel looked frenetically from mother to daughter « Lyra? Is that really you?» his eyes were full of wonder. Lyra’s were as cold as ice.  
She looked at her father «Uncle Asriel, I dreamt of the moment when I would see you again» 

«You shouldn’t be here. This isn't the place for young girls» he replied almost accusingly 

« As unfeeling as ever I see» Then she added conspiratorially «I would never miss the result of my work» Lord Asriel looked upon her with confusion. Mrs Coulter’s face had drained of any color. 

«There were entire worlds you could be living in, didn’t you ask yourself how did they find you?»

«That’s a trick. You would never – Lyra would never- » his voice broke. 

Mrs Coulter berated herself. Of course Lyra had used the alethiometer. Her hatred for Asriel surpassed her desire to never touch the accursed thing again.

Lord Asriel glared at Mrs Coulter «This is low even for you Marisa»

But Lyra had had enough.

«Look at me!» she shouted. « It’s not her power play. No chessboard, no rules. I found you for the Magisterium. I betrayed your location. I chose your punishment. Me, not her. Look. At. Me!»

Lord Asriel was speechless «Why?»

Lyra was incredulous. « Have you already forgotten the servant boy you have killed to jump worlds? My best friend – that you swore to help – sacrificed for the next great experiment? You are no hero, no explorer. You are a murderer and you deserve to pay for your crimes » her breathing was labored.

He looked upon her daughter and didn’t recognized her. There was nothing of himself in her cold beauty. Her cruelty – he told himself – was all Marisa. 

«I want to see you burn in hell. But life asks for compromises, dear uncle» she gestured around « and I think that this is the closer I will get to satisfy my desires»

«And what about your mother’s crimes? What about your own?» 

Lyra made to respond. A snarl on her pretty face. 

«You are unwell, Asriel» Mrs Coulter intervened, putting a hand on Lyra’s shoulder and leading her towards the door « we have to go»  
«Marisa, please» it was no mistaking Asriel’s imploring tone.

She stopped on the threshold. Her hand on Lyra’s shoulder tightening. «All those years ago» she said without turning back «I said that my place was by our daughter’s side. Things haven’t changed» she said strongly. Still, her heart ached. 

[Present time]  
Lyra’s smile is ferine and Mrs Coulter feels a shiver down her body. Her mind is a litany of “What has she done? What have I done?”, because there is no doubt that Lyra’s decisions, her actions are her own fault. Lyra is her child, the child of power, ambition and revenge. 

And never like in this instant she understands that she and her daughter are one and the same. Always wishing for more, angry at the world, uncapable of forgiving. 

While she is having this inner turmoil, her words are as sharp as ever.

« Are you deaf or just plain stupid. What. Have. You. Done?»

Lyra turns red with anger, but eventually replies. « Is it possible that after all this time you are still in love with him? And to think he replaced you so easily» Mrs Coulter flinches back, as if struck. «What? Did you really think that in all those years he spent in another world he had found only dust?»

«So .. He had a lover. He isn’t stupid. He won’t go back to her» Mrs Coulter says weakly.

«He has taken a wife, mother. And a brand-new child»

She tries to stay controlled. «I suppose the men of the Magisterium have taken them into custody. But you wouldn’t be so happy if that was the end of the matter».

«Always ruining the fun!» Lyra pouted « The woman – Elaine Parry - is a puddle of blood on the floor»

«Sloppy. What about the son?» 

«Will Parry escaped. A minor inconvenience». 

«He will meet Asriel. You will have to be careful»

«Since when are you one of those apprehensive mother’s?» Lyra asked lightly

«You cannot take anything seriously! I know Asriel better then you do. He cannot be underestimated and neither is the boy if he is with him»

«Good. Let them come. I am my mother’s daughter and I am ready to paint my masterpiece with their blood» Then Lyra looked Mrs Coulter in the eyes «Aren’t you proud of me, mother?»


End file.
